


Illumination

by averita



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Community: got_exchange, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 23:42:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/averita/pseuds/averita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She doesn’t know when she began to think of Winterfell as home - and it certainly hasn’t taken the place of Riverrun - but much like her heart has expanded to make room for the child inside her along with Robb, it seems to have made room for Winterfell and her life here as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Illumination

**Author's Note:**

> Written for gloriagilbert for the got_exchange on LJ. The prompt was: _Ned and Cat are a very physically demonstrative couple (maybe because words are hard). I'd love to see nonsexual physical affection, preferably early in their marriage. Maybe he rubs her feet when she's pregnant or she holds him when he has nightmares...anything, really. I'm not opposed to its leading to sex, but I'd like the focus to be on comfort._

They are well into the third day of discussions, and as far as Catelyn can tell, the only true development has been the rapid disintegration of even feigned courtesies among the feuding lords.

The negotiating parties arrive for their midday meal, seating themselves as far apart as possible, but Ned is not among them. “Where’s your papa?” she asks Robb, turning him on her lap to see him better. “Where has he disappeared to?” Her son grins, a toothy grin that promptly turns into a yawn, and she laughs, running a hand over his auburn curls before scooping him up, a task less easy than it once was now that her stomach has begun to swell. He nestles into her shoulder, full and content, and she’s exceedingly grateful for the easy exit he offers as she makes her excuses to the surly men still dining.

Her husband has no such excuse, she knows, and much to Robb’s delight, she makes for his solar. Ned looks like he could use a rest himself, she thinks ruefully when she sees him. It takes him a moment to look up, but when he does his weary eyes brighten, and he rises to take Robb from her with an ease that warms her from the inside out. She is still finding her footing in her marriage and oftentimes it feels like there is little common ground to be had with this solemn Northern husband of hers, but the love they both bear for their son - so overwhelming that at times it makes her breath catch - has given them enough to be going on.

“Your son has had a busy morning,” she says, smiling. “It’s nearly time for his rest, but he wanted to come say hello before going with Old Nan. I hope we’re not bothering you.”

“Never,” Ned replies fervently, returning to his chair. Catelyn sits beside him, watching a small smile grace his own features as Robb whimpers and buries his face in the crook of his father’s neck. “I could use a rest myself, in truth. My own morning has not been so fruitful.”

For all that he had never thought to be Lord of Winterfell, Ned is seldom less than stoic in his duties, and the weary tone of his voice takes Catelyn by surprise. _He is struggling more than I realized._ “Has there been no progress?” she asks, making an effort to sound more curious than concerned.

He shakes his head, sighing. “Each time I think we might be getting somewhere, some new trouble is raised. I don’t know that the Lonely Hills have ever an area of dispute, but with the mountain clans moving east…” He pauses, and Catelyn hums sympathetically. “If it were anyone but Lord Bolton, we might be done by now, but I think they are arguing just to argue at this point. A child of Robb’s age could manage it more civilly.”

At the sound of his name, Robb lets out a whine, rubbing his fists into his eyes and yawning. The sound seems to bring Ned back to himself, and he smiles ruefully as Catelyn calls Nan in from the hallway. He runs a gentle hand over Robb’s fine curly hair as Nan takes the boy, filling Catelyn with contentment even as she promises to check in on him shortly.

“Forgive me, my lady,” he apologizes when they are alone. “I do not mean to complain - as I said, it has been a long morning.”

“Do not apologize,” she tells him, rather more fiercely than she intended. Softening, she squeezes his shoulder. “I saw them in the hall, at the midday meal. They seemed torn between wanting to eat outside to be rid of the other, and being too proud to be the ones to move. I do not envy you.”

It is instinct more than anything that leads her to rise, moving behind him and raising her free hand to rest on the other side of his neck. The muscle there is hard as rock, and when she sweeps her thumbs along his shoulder blades, he lets out a soft sound of surprise. She hesitates - they are discovering intimacy in the bedchamber, something beyond the dutiful routine they had mastered at the beginning, but that is unsure in itself and this is something new entirely.

Ned voices no objection, though, and the sound had not been one of displeasure, so she squeezes his shoulders again and presses the pads of her fingers more forcefully into the tender flesh. She pauses again when she reaches the thick leather of his vest, but he had loosened it already, and when she gives a gentle tug, he slips it down his arms himself.

It is slow going. The knots twisting his muscles do not yield easily, but she continues to rub and knead along his neck and shoulders, sliding her thumbs up the nape of his neck and into his hair before moving back down along his collarbone, and reluctantly they begin to loosen. Ned’s head dips forward and occasionally, when she hits a particularly tender spot, he inhales sharply or lets out a sigh, but other than that he makes no sound until she comes to rub beneath his ears, thumbs circling his temples. The groan is soft but heartfelt.

“My lady,” he says quietly. “Much as I am enjoying this, if you continue for much longer you’ll put me to sleep.”

“The rest would do you good,” Catelyn counters, but stills her hands all the same. “Though I suppose the Boltons and Umbers might raise objections.”

“They might,” he agrees, turning to face her and wincing as his neck cracks loudly.

Seating herself beside him once more, Catelyn smiles softly as Ned reaches towards her, tracing a finger along the rise of her stomach before taking both of her hands in his own. His eyes are tender in a way she rarely sees outside of the bedchamber, and it fills her with a warmth that she hadn't thought she'd know here in this frozen castle. "I don't suppose we could let them battle it out on their own this afternoon," she suggests half-heartedly, and he chuckles, eyes cast down to take in their clasped hands.

"Even if we could," he sighs, "I fear that I must play referee, and with this lot, that's a full-time job."

Catelyn squeezes his hands and, feeling bold in this uncharacteristic intimacy, leans forward to place a tender kiss on his lips. He seems as reluctant as she to end it moments later, and she thrills at the ease of it, the fluttering in her heart and the sweet, nearly bashful smile on his face. "Then," she says softly, rising to her feet, "I shall leave you to it, and see you tonight, my lord.”

Ned stands as well, sliding his hands first to her shoulders and then to her cheeks. He looks as though he wants to say something, but the words do not come, and she does not begrudge him for this - she is learning that sometimes her husband communicates more eloquently without them. The gratitude and - not love, perhaps (though she wonders), but certainly affection - are easy enough to read in the gentle brush of his fingers against her cheek as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Until tonight, my lady,” he says, raising her hand to his lips.

***

The afternoon passes unremarkably for Catelyn; for all that the castle is bustling with guests and bannermen, there is little for her to do save oversee preparations for tonight's meal. _Perhaps if we don't feed them, they will leave sooner_ , she thinks absurdly; quite apart from the toll their presence is taking on her husband, she finds herself eager for the comfortable routine she has come to value in her own home.

At the thought, the babe flutters in her stomach as if to agree, and she smiles. She doesn’t know when she began to think of Winterfell as home - and it certainly hasn’t taken the place of Riverrun - but much like her heart has expanded to make room for the child inside her along with Robb, it seems to have made room for Winterfell and her life here as well.

Robb spends much of the afternoon with Nan and the other boy, an occurrence that she has grudgingly come to accept, more for her son's sake than anyone else's. This pregnancy feels different than her first, and she suspects she is carrying a girl this time, but as much as she cannot bring herself to be sorry at the idea, there is a small part of her that wonders. If this babe is a boy, if Robb were to have a trueborn brother near his own age, would he spend less time with the bastard boy? Such musings are less common than they once were, but her mouth tightens at them nonetheless, and she forcefully pushes the train of thought away whenever it arises.

Dinner is a strained, though not altogether unpleasant, affair; Catelyn does not seem to be the only one weary of the theatrics. She sees Ned only briefly; he spends much of the meal engaged in conversation with Vayon Poole, leaves with Lord Umber before the dishes have been cleared, and doesn’t reappear until late in the evening, long after she has put Robb to sleep and readied herself for bed.

"I wondered if you had fallen asleep already," she teases shyly when he enters her room, and drops her embroidery into her lap. “Or perhaps died of boredom."

"It was a close thing," he assures her, the corner of his mouth twitching as he pulls his vest off and sits on the edge of her bed to remove his boots. "How was your day?"

"Well enough," Catelyn says, putting the cloth and needle aside and rising with a wince - her own aches are worse in the evening, and she presses a hand to the small of her back. Ned, bless him, notices, and pauses in his undressing. "It's just the babe," she assures him, and smiles. "It's getting bigger now, you know."

"I've noticed," he says, reaching out as she walks over to him and laying his broad hands on the gentle swell of her belly. "I am glad to have the chance to see it, this time."

She knows the truth of this; since she first told him that she was with child, barely three moons past, he has watched her with far greater attention than he ever had before. The movements of the babe, though precious, were not new to her the way they had been when she carried Robb; to Ned, though, they had seemed nothing short of miraculous, and she had thrilled at the way he had barely been able to keep from touching her. It is not uncommon for him to spend the night in her bed (though it had taken several reassurances from both herself and Maester Luwin that he would do no harm in bedding her), but the night that the babe had started kicking was the first that he had spent entirely chastely by her side, seemingly unwilling to miss even a moment.

Raising his eyes to meet her own, he smiles, that lovely rare smile that is becoming more and more familiar. She reaches down to unlace his breeches, and he shucks them to the floor with his boots and then his tunic, leaving him clad in just his smallclothes. (For all that her chambers are the warmest in the castle, she still can’t fathom sleeping comfortably without her many layers and furs, though she has found having Ned beside her to be an acceptable substitute.) Hanging her robe on the hook near the door, she wastes no time in burying herself beneath the blankets on the bed, grinning sheepishly at the amused glint in her husband's eyes as he settles beside her.

"Tell me of the meetings," she requests, curling onto her side to face him. His features are shadowed in the candlelight, and his fingers rough where they trace along her arm.

Ned sighs. "We've made progress," he says, the strain of relief evident in his voice, and Catelyn hums in appreciation. "They should be on their way by the week's end."

"What decisions were made?" she asks, fighting back a yawn as Ned strokes her hair.

"Well, for the longest time we weren't getting anywhere, so I finally decided to claim the Hills in the name of our new babe,” he says gravely. “In the meantime, I have appointed the Greatjon Winterfell's new Diplomatic Ambassador. He shall be representing me in all future disputes.”

Catelyn huffs out a surprised laugh. "And what of Lord Bolton?"

"Oh, yes," Ned muses, glancing at her for a moment; there’s a pleased gleam in his eye, his pleasure at amusing her evident. "I'm still thinking of a suitable position for him. Perhaps he can assist Hullen as Master of Horse."

"That's hardly fair," Catelyn objects, biting the inside of her cheek. "Just think of the poor horses."

She feels Ned's chuckle deep in his chest, and feels the same sense of triumph she thinks she saw in him, the pride she always knows when she is able to make him laugh like this. She tries not to think of Brandon often, and it is less of a struggle now than it had been at the beginning, but now and then the comparisons come. He had laughed so freely, so easily, and she had loved that about him, but with Ned, she loves that she is one of the few that sees this side of him, even if not as frequently as she might like. They are still so newly married, though, and still growing comfortable with each other; she suspects that there are more layers to him, more treasures to unearth, and as content as she is now, she wonders what intimacies await them in years to come. She wonders if they will be enough to erase the distances that still separate them, no matter how small they seem in moments like this, and if they will be enough to exorcise the ghosts that lay between them. She hopes so.

Ned kisses her forehead, then her lips, and she sighs against him. I could come to love this man, she thinks, not for the first time, but as he pulls her closer, moving his hand down to the small of her back where the tension is beginning to melt away, she finds herself wondering if perhaps she already does - if perhaps, like so many things in this new life of hers, love is not what she expected, but is instead something more, something better.


End file.
